


5 ways cosmo can help you win your man

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Relationship Advice, attempted courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt from jen: where derek never had to work to get a date, he always had someone pursue him or ask him out. but when derek sees stiles, he waits and thinks stiles will stroll up and ask him out. everyone of his past relationships started that way, until stiles doesn’t. and derek is left with the horrifying possibility that he will have to make the first move and dare he think of it, flirt? and attempt small talk. and it turns out, he’s really bad at it. maybe he even tries cosmo tips and calls his sisters, both of whom are like 100% trolling him</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 ways cosmo can help you win your man

Stiles turns to look at Derek expectantly, fingers playing with the semester’s exam results, his name at the top above Derek’s. It’s the end of the year, this is his chance. Months of watching Stiles chew on a pen, spread his legs wide under desks, smirk at Derek as he winds him up during discussion, it’s all boiled down to Derek having a frankly ridiculous, painful crush. And, Stiles hasn’t even seemed to notice him. He hasn’t blushed under Derek’s gaze, or ever shied away from it. He doesn’t play with his hair (not that he has much, but it’s enough for Derek to imagine tugging on and that’s okay with him), he doesn’t ever hear Stiles’ breath hitch when he leans in close. He needs to make himself clear, put himself out there.

He needs to be smooth. He can  _do this_. He can ask somebody out.

He needs to form words.

“Yes?”

“Date,” Derek blurts out. 

“Uh,” Stiles glances at his watch, “The 23rd, dude.”

“No,” Derek glares at him. “I mean–”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles baulks when he does a double take at his watch, “I gotta jet, you’ll be out for drinks to celebrate, yeah?”

“Yes,” Derek manages stiltedly. 

“Awesome,” Stiles claps him on the arm, “See you there!”

 _Will you go out with me_. He couldn’t manage six words. God, he’s the worst. Derek bashes his head against the noticeboard until Lydia Martin comes out of their professor’s office and tells him to take his strange behavior elsewhere. 

*

The thing is, Derek’s never needed to ask anyone out in his  _entire_  life. Girls and boys would half climb over each other to woo him during high school, and in his last year, he was exclusively with Paige. He never had to try. She was lovely, and sweet, and she didn’t demand flowers, or candy, only that Derek treated her with respect. She and Derek had seen each other naked a hundred times before they had sex, she’d seen Derek snort milk, and cry at the end of Titanic, he’d never had to be someone he wasn’t around her. 

Unfortunately, as they grew up, they also grew apart, and Derek had started college alone and apprehensive. The fucking awesome, surprising thing of it was, though, that people seemed to dig the uninterested,  _my ex girlfriend was better than anyone else_  vibe, and thrown themselves at Derek. He’d moved on from Paige. He’d learnt that the more aloof you appeared, the less you seemed like you wanted it, the more you got it. Derek’s pretty sure he hasn’t brought himself a drink in two years. And, then he met Stiles. 

Stiles is irritating. He’s brilliant, and sharp, smart and inquisitive, he insists on talking to Derek all the time, asking what his weekend plans are, what he’s up to over winter break, is he going to take some lucky person out for Valentine’s Day, and yet… he never seems to actually want to be that person! It’s infuriating. Derek must have given him a hundred chances, “well, if I’m tempted”; “I guess I could be persuaded”; “I don’t have any plans, why?” But, Stiles took every answer in his stride, proceeded to tell Derek about his own trip to Wisconsin with his best friend to woo Scott’s ex girlfriend back, or about the hunting trip with his dad where he accidentally shot himself in the foot, did Derek wanna see his scar? And yes! Derek, strangely,  _does_. He wants to see all of Stiles. He wants Stiles stretched out in his bed, moaning his name like only Derek will ever satisfy him ever again. But, he doesn’t know how to say so. He’s royally fucked, in fact, he’s the opposite, because he’ll never get laid again. He can’t be bothered with someone more accessible when Stiles is so unobtainable, and so enticing, and beautiful and god damn awkward. 

Derek watches him trip on the dance floor, and wonders for the hundredth time what he sees in him. Seconds later, however, Stiles begins grinding smoothly with some girl from their mid century lit. class. She’s got waves of curly gold hair, and Stiles runs his hand through them, his long fingers catching in the strands and twirling them easily. He trails the knuckles of his free hand along her side, bending and twisting with her in perfect time to the beat. Derek can’t tear his eyes away, can’t not want to be that girl, losing his footing, having his knees shake before he drops to the floor and blows Stiles right there. The girl laughs at something Stiles has said in her ear, pulls away and he catches Derek’s eye, saunters over to the bar. 

“You not dancing?”

“I don’t dance,” Derek snaps. 

“Now, that’s just a waist of those hips, man,” Stiles wets his lips as his gaze flicks from Derek’s hips to his face. “You should try it some time.”

“I would,” Derek turns to lean against the bar, smiles in what he hopes is a charming fashion, “If I had the right dance partner.”

Stiles’ face falls, and then he nods quickly, claps his hands together, “Well, did you have anyone in mind? I’m pretty sure half our class’d be more than willing to shimmy around with the legendary Derek Hale.”

Derek pauses from his sip of beer, arches an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Stiles shrugs easily, waves the bartender down and smiles much more sincerely than Derek’s ever managed to pull off, “Two please.”

“I’m serious,” Derek insists, crowding Stiles up against the bar, “What’re you implying?”

“Other than the fact you’re wildly attractive?” Stiles frowns at him, puts a hand on Derek’s chest and pushes him firmly away, “No need to get so intense, man, relax. It’s the last day of semester, you should let your hair down! Well,” he wiggles his eyebrows at Derek’s hair, “Metaphorically.”

“I– you think I’m attractive?”

“Anyone with eyes would?” Stiles rolls his own eyes, downs his shot and shoves one at Derek. “You clearly need this to lighten up a little, dude. It’s on me." 

” _I_  want to be on you,“ Derek mumbles, but Stiles is clapping him on the shoulder, pointing to his ear and mouthing something Derek can’t hear. "What?”

“I said, I’ll see you later!”

And, then he’s disappearing into the crowd before Derek can repeat himself, or mortify himself any further. 

*

“Why does he have to live in Beacon Hills?” Derek bemoans to his sisters two days later, fresh from running into a shirtless Stiles on an early morning jog. Stiles had smacked Derek’s stomach through his vest, crowed that he knew Derek had to be a fitness junkie to be as well built as he was, and then jogged on, leaving Derek speechless and a little turned on. He’d had no idea Stiles was so fucking fit. Sure, he’s got nice forearms and wrists, his legs go on for miles, and he splays them out whenever he’s relaxing in class, but the muscle tone? The shoulders? The actual hair on his chest? Things Derek really didn’t need to know existed.

“I think it’s a nice change,” Cora snaps her gum, flips the page of Guns & Ammo monthly. “You’re always getting what you want, and now Stilinski’s teaching you a lesson. D'you know I once made out with him during a game of spin the bottle?” She pretends to swoon, clutches the magazine to her chest, “He looked into my eyes so soulfully, and his lips were so soft!”

Derek tosses a cushion at her face, and she catches it laughing. 

“I can’t believe you decided he was hot now. He was single all through high school, and he would have gone out with you in a millisecond.”

“I wasn’t looking,” Derek sighs. 

“Because he wasn’t popular?”

“No, you know I don’t give a shit about things like that, I was just–”

“Face it, bro, you didn’t notice him.”

“Alright, no, I didn’t, does that make me a bad person?”

“No, it makes you dumb, you could have snapped him up years ago, and then when he did the Marc Ruffalo puberty thing, you’d have been there to make out with him.”

“I’d have made out with him regardless.”

“Awww,” Cora thumbs her bottom lip, “That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up! I’m just saying, I don’t care that he’s hotter now than he was three years ago, I care that he’s smart and he argues with me and it drives me up the wall and I–”

“Really wanna get on that?”

“ _Yes_ , except… in a nice way.”

“You’re so vanilla.”

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Laura pipes up from the window. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could say no? Laugh in my face?”

“So, then punch him and run away?”

“Laura,” Cora chides, “Violence is  _my_  answer, Derek’s has always been to avoid the problem in the first place.”

“That’s not true,” Derek argues. 

“Derek, face it, you’re a good guy, but you don’t ever let things get beyond the superficial. You don’t get feelings, and you don’t allow people to have them for you, because then you’d have to deal with serious stuff, like  _emotions_.” Cora pretends to shudder, and Derek flips her off. 

“Alright, Yoda,  _fine_ ,” he straightens up on the bed, glowers at her, “What do you suggest?”

“Court him,” Cora points at him, “Woo the fuck out of him, actually show you’re interested in more than sex?”

Derek blinks at her. 

She rolls her eyes, “Jesus, d'you need a manual?”

“He might,” Laura muses, “Paige was the only person he ever dated for more than a day, and I’m pretty sure she bought her own flowers.”

“We’re gonna need help,” Cora says after a judgemental silence, in which both his sisters stared at him. She rolls off the bed, yanks out a pile of magazines, and flips open the top one. 

“No, Cora, not Cosmo,” Derek bemoans, “I can’t be seen trying stuff from–”

“Do you want to let him know how you feel, or do you want to stay stuck blathering useless none words at him until he thinks you’re an idiot?”

“I bet he already thinks that,” Derek mutters darkly, thinking back to the many lectures where he made a point, only to have Stiles argue with him for the rest of the class. He’s almost certain that actually, Stiles thinks he’s a complete moron. “He told me to lighten up,” he adds. “He doesn’t want to date me, he thinks I’m uptight!”

“You are,” Cora says soothingly, and Derek scowls. “But, some people like that in a dating partner, hell, I couldn’t date someone that didn’t know how to use a forty five.”

“Not the same as being a caveman,” Laura points out, “Which our Derek definitely could be.”

“Our Derek,” Derek repeats bitchily, “Is sitting right here.”

“Do you want our help or not?!”

“I suppose,” he sighs, flopping back on the bed and thinking longingly of Stiles, and the way his face lit up whenever they got into one of their heated debates. He hopes embarrassing the hell out of himself is worth it. He hopes Stiles likes him back. 

“Oh god, I need help,” he groans, “I’m turning into a teenager again.”

“You know it, bro,” Cora pats his ankle comfortingly, “Let’s see what Auntie Cosmo has to say.”

*

 **Give him an eyeful**  

 

> _Locking eyes with a guy doesn’t just tell him you’re interested, it can even make him feel like he’s falling in love with you. Why? Because it’s the behaviour of loved-up couples. A study by Zick Rubin, former associate professor at Harvard University, US, found that lovers spent 75% of their time looking at each other; other people spent around 30-60% of their time doing the same. By encouraging him to gaze into your eyes by maintaining eye contact with him, you can lead his brain towards the idea of love._

“Stiles!” Derek half runs around the corner of the supermarket, pushing his cart so quickly it almost rams into Stiles’ as he catches up. “Hi.”

“Hey yourself,” Stiles beams at him, glances into Derek’s cart full of beer and steaks. “Barbecue shopping?”

“Yes,” Derek says shortly, staring at Stiles as hard as he can. 

Stiles lifts his chin slowly, eyeing Derek, “That’s… cool?”

“My sister Cora likes her meat charred, and my sister Laura likes it barely pink, it’s a nightmare cooking with them,” Derek huffs. 

To his surprise, Stiles laughs, shakes his head, “Sounds like a challenge. Hey, if you guys want a change of scenery my dad and I do a barbecue every sunday, you should all come over tomorrow. He’s always saying he doesn’t see your mom enough, and I know Cora’s been working for him; it’d be a nice chance for them to bond.”

“Cora doesn’t bond well,” Derek says flatly, still staring at Stiles determinedly. 

“Oh, uh,” Stiles’ cheeks begin to pink up, and he scratches the back of his neck, “Some other time then?”

“No,” Derek says suddenly, “We’ll come.”

“Okaay,” Stiles ducks his head, and Derek catches the flash of a grin, “You don’t need to look so pained about it.”

“I just don’t want my sisters embarrassing me,” Derek blurts out. 

“Aw,” Stiles bites his bottom lip, smirking at Derek, “It’s so cute you think you don’t do it enough for yourself already.”

Derek opens his mouth to defend himself angrily, and then realises Stiles is  _teasing_  him, blinking up at him with a coy expression on his face.

They stare openly at one another for a moment too long, and then Derek says weakly, “Shut up.”

Stiles laughs all the way to the cashier’s desk. He glances over his shoulder and cracks up again when he sees Derek still staring. Derek’s not sure if it counts as a victory or not that he made Stiles laugh, but… he looks so nice when he does it, and he’s smiling at Derek shyly from the till, so, a win it is.

*

**Be like him**

 

> _Focusing on the ways in which you’re alike can help create a mutual attraction. “We may not realise it, but we have a natural tendency to go for people who not only have similar interests and backgrounds to us, but also use similar facial expressions,” says Spurr. Researchers at the University of Liverpool found that we’re more likely to go for people who look similar to us because we perceive certain facial attributes as clues to personality._

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”

Derek looks down at his Hulk t-shirt, and fiddles nervously with the sleeves of his green plaid shirt. “I like comics,” he says defensively. 

Stiles hums thoughtfully, bounces on the heels of his feet, “DC or Marvel?”

“Marvel,” Derek shrugs, “More fun.”

“ _Fun_ ,” Stiles echoes incredulously, “You know what that is?!”

“Ha ha,” Derek snipes, lifting up a six pack of beer and looking around, “Where do you want me?”

Stiles seems to still for a moment, and his ears go pink as he turns away, points at the barbeque, “My dad doesn’t trust me to not set the yard on fire, you could go see if he needs a hand?”

“Sure,” Derek remembers the advice from the magazine, be like him. Stiles is smiley, cheerful even on a bad day. So, Derek smiles as brightly as possible at Stiles on his way past. Stiles makes a strangled noise, and backs away from Derek hastily. 

Derek sighs, in the past, that smile has always made people lean close, ask if he needs a refill or some company. It’s never made people rush away from him like their hair’s on fire. He wonders mournfully, if Stiles just isn’t into him. 

“Smooth,” Laura mutters as he makes for the table. 

“Shut the hell up,” he huffs, “I hate you and your dumb advice. I look ridiculous.”

“I actually think the green brings out your eyes,” she says easily, yanking at the collar and calling for Stiles. “Don’t you agree, Stiles?”

Stiles hums absently, eyes on the table as he lays out plates, “What’s that?”

“Derek’s shirt brings out his eyes, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles nods, still not looking at Derek, “You got someone you’re trying to impress later, or something?”

“No,” Derek says flatly. “Not later.”

“You know,” Stiles leans back against one of the chairs, considers Derek for a moment, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a graphic tee before.”

“I don’t normally wear them,” Derek shrugs, “They make me seem approachable.”

Stiles barks out a laugh, heads back towards the house, and Laura punches Derek on the arm, “See, I  _knew_  you could make conversation.”

“I was being truthful!”

“Grubs up,” the Sheriff calls, and everyone crowds the table. Dinner’s a loud affair, and Derek notices that Stiles seems to come out of his shell more than at college. He laughs more easily, teases Cora about her crush on Deputy Saldana, winds his dad up about the non fat mayo he has to have, banters with Derek from across the table. Every time he uses a fork for something he takes forever pulling it out of his mouth, too. It’s absolute torture. Derek distracts himself by talking as much as possible, unusual for him normally, but he’s supposed to be acting more like Stiles, so it’s fitting. It isn’t hard, either, gesticulating more than usual, rolling his eyes at his mom’s embarrassing stories, relaxing in a warm, safe environment. He doesn’t have to put on a show here. 

Stiles meets his eye at one point, presses his toes against Derek’s under the table, and Derek pushes his own back. Tries to pretend he’s not beaming about it all through strawberries and cream. 

The way Stiles uses a spoon is  _obscene_.

*

**Hang around… A lot!**

 

> _This sounds counterintuitive but it’s not. Familiarity doesn’t breed contempt (unless he doesn’t like you in the first place, in which you’re kind of doomed, sorry). In fact, the more time you spend together, the more he’ll like you. “Advertising works in part because it repeatedly exposes you to a particularly product,” says Kerner. “It’s the same with people – the more time you spend together, taking for granted that there’s some mutual attraction to begin with, the more you’ll grow to like each other.”_

Derek ambles through the stacks of books at the library, looking for the one copy of Dante’s Inferno the librarian had promised was up here. He’s perusing several other options, when he notices Stiles sitting at one of the long reading tables set up, nose buried in a book. 

“Stiles?”

Stiles jumps a foot in the air, and clutches his chest when he looks up at Derek, “Dude!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, face burning. 

“Gotta get you a bell,” Stiles says shaking his head, but his tone is fonder than Derek’s ever heard, and he gestures at the table. 

“Can I?”

“Sure, sure,” Stiles sweeps his pile of books to the side, and Derek eyes them in surprise. 

“You doing all this for next year, already?”

“Nah, I just do my reading here,” Stiles rubs his face, and Derek tries not to watch his eyelashes flutter, wonders how they’d feel against his skin. “Helps me concentrate, you know? At home there’s so much I could go and do, instead, and I always want to read so many books, and I never get around to it, so,” Stiles takes a breath, gestures around them, “Here I am.”

Derek waves a copy of whatever he picked up in his haste to come over to Stiles’ table, realises it's  _Sense & Sensibility_, “Uh, me too.”

“You a fan of Austen?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow, “You are full of surprises, man.”

Derek doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not, and so nods jerkily, opens his book. He does end up being sucked into the story, and only glances up when he feels eyes on him. Stiles grins over the top of his own book, unashamedly staring at Derek, and then goes back to his page like it was nothing. Derek can feel his heart racing as he re-reads the same paragraph twice, looks up again, and catches Stiles’ gaze once more. 

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, same old face,” Stiles pats his own jaw, “Though, I dig the beard.”

“Thank you?”

“Welcome,” Stiles stands, stretches, looks down at Derek, “You wanna grab coffee from downstairs, they’ve got fresh beans.”

Derek narrows his eyes, “Are you mocking my preference for good coffee over the crap they serve at our own library?”

“I would never!”

They tumble downstairs together, jostling one another amiably, and Stiles shocks the hell out of Derek, ordering his usual coffee for him like he knows it. When Stiles notices him staring he shrugs, rubs the back of his neck, “You bring the same thing to class every week, you’re pretty predictable.”

“I am not,” Derek huffs. 

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“That’ll be seven fifty,” the girl behind the counter interrupts. 

Derek reaches for his wallet, and chooses not to think on the significance of this being the first time he’s ever paid for someone else’s drink. 

After that, he seeks out Stiles in the library almost every day, joins him at the table. They sit in silence as they read, and then Stiles regales him of the stories he’s been soaking up over coffee, that Derek always pays for, and Stiles gets the muffins that begin to accompany them. 

Stiles mentions that he likes to go to the comic store on fifth sometimes, and without thinking, Derek offers to join him. 

Somehow, accidentally on purpose, Derek always arrives in the parking lot of the supermarket seconds after Stiles, and they push their carts around together. He’s sure at one point he spots his sisters eating snacks and watching them from the candy aisle, but he chooses to pretend they were a horrible mirage. 

It’s nice, spending time with Stiles one on one. Not only does he posses a wicked sense of humor, most often used to tease Derek, but he’s happy to let silence fall between them, and not make it awkward. Derek finds himself bringing up topics of conversation when he wants to, not when someone expects him to. He likes that Stiles doesn’t ask anything of him, doesn’t complain he’s too quiet, only jokingly fakes a heart attack when sometimes Derek finds himself rambling about something he’s genuinely interested in. He really didn’t know he had it in him to make such an effort, but Stiles seems to gently bring it out in him. And, he’s okay with it.

*

**Ask for his help**

 

> _We all like to feel needed. The reason is simple: if someone needs to ask your advice, needs you to help them shift a bed, needs you to make them feel better, helping them makes you feel good about yourself. Feeling needed can also make someone insecure feel safe – after all, if you need him, you’re less likely to run off with some other guy, right?_

“That is plain ridiculous,” Cora scoffs slapping the magazine shut. 

“It’s been working so far,” Laura retorts, “They’ve been texting,” she adds in a low, conspiratorial voice. 

“I can hear you,” Derek murmurs from the floor, locking his phone after having googled what the hell snap chat is, and downloading the app to trade pictures with Stiles. Apparently, Stiles believes it to be imperative he be able to do this. 

He grins stupidly when Stiles sends him a wide smiley face emoticon and a congrats, after informing him of said download. 

“Your face is awful, right now,” Cora tells him. 

“Yours is awful all the time,” Derek snaps back.

“Witty, bro.”

“I agree with Cora,” Laura interrupts, “That the way this one is phrased is dumb, but, it has a point about showing you need him.”

“Need him desperately,” Cora simpers. 

Derek snaps a picture of her halfway through pulling a dumb face, sends it to Stiles with a caption reading  ** _“can’t believe she wasn’t prom queen.”_**

Stiles’ response is almost instant,  **Mean brother!**

Derek finds himself grinning as he types out a reply,  _ **I guess I should improve my status by getting her a good birthday present, got any suggestions?**_

**how about we hit the mall tomorrow?**

Pretending his heart isn’t racing, Derek responds with a yes and a time to meet, and informs his sisters he no longer needs their assistance. 

“You’re sickening,” Cora yells after him, “Wipe that dopey smile off your face!”

“You wipe your face off... your face,” Derek finishes lamely, and then catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. Huh. The beard is really starting to take over his face, and Stiles doesn’t even seem to grow stubble. Maybe, if he gets rid of his, Stiles will see him as more like him! He’ll appear accessible, kissable! 

Ha. That magazine is genius. 

*

“Woah!” Stiles yells dramatically from across the mall courtyard, “You have a chin!”

“Ha ha,” Derek says flatly, trying not to shudder too obviously when Stiles presses a hand to his smooth cheek, drags his fingers down his skin. 

“Who knew,” Stiles murmurs, “It’s like you’ve never seen the sun.”

“I thought you were gonna help me, not mock me,” Derek huffs, batting his hand away. When Stiles drops his hand, his fingers tangle with Derek’s for a moment, and they both seem to suck in a breath. Derek rears back, squints up at the mall directory, and Stiles clears his throat. 

“I uh, never promised there wouldn’t be any mocking,” he says after a moment. 

Derek rolls his eyes, but they’re back on familiar ground, and he squeezes Stiles’ own cheeks together when he gives Derek a sweet,  _completely_  innocent smile of his own. 

“Alright,” Stiles claps his hands together, “So, what’s your sister into?”

“Guns.”

Stiles shakes his head, “No way, man, you can’t buy your sister anything encouraging  _violence_  for her birthday. What else?”

“I don’t know, the usual stuff, tv, Breaking Bad? Sports! Baseball–”

“Go figure,” Stiles cuts in fondly. 

“What?”

“All through exams, you wore this ratty Dodgers tee with the hem that trailed.”

“That shirt brings me luck,” Derek protests. 

Stiles bites his bottom lip, his smile peeking through regardless, and Derek huffs, “Shut up.”

“Shirts, though,” Stiles snaps his fingers, “You can never go wrongs with pjs!” He points over Derek’s shoulder to Victoria Secret, tugs on Derek’s arm. “Come on.”

Derek follows, aware that to other customers they must look rather odd, two guys wondering into a popular ladies lingerie store, but Stiles doesn’t seem to have any such qualms, and Derek’s happy as long as Stiles is. 

“This is very you,” Stiles teases, holding up a red lacy camisole against Derek’s chest.

“I have that one in black, already,” he sniffs dismissively. 

Stiles’ face goes bright red, and he tosses the camisole back on the pile, “Didn’t picture you as the lace type.”

“Oh? How did you picture me then?”

“The nothing type,” Stiles smirks. 

Derek hums thoughtfully,“Maybe you’re right.”

“Only one way to find out,” Stiles says cheerfully. Derek tries not to look too surprised, but Stiles grins wickedly and continues, “Have to watch you sleep.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs the nearest set of pink stripy pjs, and throws them at Stiles’ head. 

“Let’s get these before we’re thrown out.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never been thrown out of here before?! You’ve never fooled around in a dressing room?” Stiles clutches his chest, “Derek, I’m so disappointed.”

“You wanna go now?” Derek arches an eyebrow, juts his chin at the dressing rooms, “I’m sure we could find you something pretty and pink to try on.”

“I do all my shopping online,” Stiles sniffs airily, grabbing Derek’s hand and yanking him towards the till. “He likes to be stylish when he sleeps,” he tells the girl that rings them up. 

Derek rolls his eyes, takes the bag without argument.

“Thanks,” he says when they’re sitting in the food court half an hour later.

Stiles grins at him around his straw, “What would you do without me?”

“Heaven forbid I ever find out,” Derek says drily. 

Stiles winks at him, steals half his brownie, “You need me to eat this to keep you from getting out of shape, I’m doing you a favor, okay?”

Derek snorts, “Whatever you need to believe.”

“Hey, you’re the one that needs  _my_  help, dude,” Stiles takes a bite of the brownie, Derek looks determinedly away from his mouth.

“You are pretty useful, I suppose,” he says finally. 

Stiles gives him a chocolatey smile, hooks his feet around Derek’s and proceeds to make up stories about the shoppers around them.

*

**Utter the one word that drives him nuts**

 

> _As lovey-dovey as pet names make him feel, they still don’t compare to the electrifying rush your man gets when his name crosses your lips. “Just hearing it is an aphrodisiac,” says body-language expert Eve Marx, author of Read My Hips. "It ratchets up his desire because the message you send is ‘It’s you I’m thinking about and no one else.’ And men need to hear that — it’s tied to their primal urge to beat out all the competition.“_

"That bonfire sure is pretty,” Stiles murmurs from beside Derek. 

“Yeah, I read once that the three things people most like to stare at in life is a fire crackling, a running stream and a zamboni.”

“Huh,” Stiles nudges him, amused, “I saw that on CSI, once.”

Derek huffs, “Maybe I saw it there, too, Stiles.”

“Admitting to actually watching television? Gosh,” Stiles kicks at the sand they’re sitting on, other party goers on the beach making background noise, tossing drinks between one another, the waves in the distance soothing Derek’s nerves. 

“Stiles, I watch television.”

“You do? What d'you watch, other than baseball!” Stiles narrows his eyes at him and points, “Don’t try and get smart with me.”

“I would never,” Derek smirks, shrugs and sits back on his hands. “I watch a lot of forensic stuff like CSI, Bones, I like the science.”

“I like the cool soundtracks.”

“Yeah,” he grins, ducks his head, “Yeah, those are good, too.”

Stiles drops down onto the sand, gazes up at Derek, “I think I’m a little drunk,” he declares. 

“Stiles–”

“Why’d'you keep saying my name like that?” Stiles interrupts, “That’s like the  _nineteenth_  time tonight, are you worried you’re gonna forget it?”

“No,” Derek flushes, leaps to a stand and brushes the sand off his pants as he begins to head for the keg, “Never mind.”

“Hey, woah,” Stiles jumps to follow him, catches his arm, “Don’t go weird on me now, Hale, we’ve been doing so well all summer!”

“So well at what?” Derek squints at him, waves his hands around, “What are we doing?”

“Hanging out!” Stiles punches him on the shoulder, and when Derek barely flinches, he stops, drops his arm. “I mean… we’ve become friends, right?”

Derek clenches his jaw, realising that this is the greatest irony of his life. He’s tried every fucking trick in an actual book, and he’s managed to woo Stiles into being his friend. Stiles is looking up at him so sincerely, biting his lip and shuffling from foot to foot, and Derek has to say something, he can’t let this go on any longer, he needs to bite the bullet, ask him if he wants to go on a date before Stiles is calling them pals and breaking Derek’s heart for another year.

“I read Cosmo,” he says instead.

Stiles blinks in confusion, “What.”

“I–” Derek flounders, tries to pretend he isn’t going bright red, “I’ve never had to ask anyone out before, and I didn’t – you didn’t seem to know I was interested. I… I’ve never had to tell anyone, they just knew, or assumed, and I went along with it. My sister– god– I’m a fucking moron, I should–”

“Wait,” Stiles catches him by the wrist, face breaking out into a smile, “Dude. Dude!”

“My name’s Derek,” Derek grinds out.

“You tried to Cosmo me?!” Stiles begins laughing, and Derek wishes suddenly that the beach would swallow him up, or, that one of those dumb sand sharks from the SyFy movie Cora loves so much would come along.

“There’s no need to fucking mock me,” he growls, “I tried, okay, I–”

Stiles interrupts him by throwing his arms around Derek’s shoulders and kissing him senseless. Derek parts his lips in surprise, and Stiles takes the opportunity to sneak his tongue inside Derek’s mouth, and his toes curl at the sensation. He doesn’t have to time to touch Stiles, however, as he’s already pulling away, tugging on Derek’s bottom lip for a moment as he goes. 

“I have wanted to do that since freshman year,” Stiles breathes out, running his fingers down Derek’s face gently. “I know you tried asking me out back in the spring, but, I didn’t… I didn’t wanna be another notch on your bed post, and I chickened out of saying yes, because… as much as you are hot, like burning,” he adds with a little grin, “You’d have chewed me up and spit me out, man, I figured you’d break my heart. So, when we started hanging over the summer I thought, hey, that’s cool, I can be your friend. But…”

“I’ve never tried to date anyone before,” Derek interrupts, “I don’t just want to be your friend,” he clutches at Stiles’ waist tightly, “I kept reading this dumb advice, and it said to dress like you and–”

“Wait,” Stiles cuts in, “The plaid?”

Derek scowls at the sky. 

“Oh my god, dude, you are so fucking cute!” Stiles crows, grabbing Derek’s shirt and hauling him in close, “I know you’ve tried, I really, really appreciate your weird, backward attempts at courtship. If I’d known what they were at the time, I’d have probably gotten naked a whole lot sooner–”

“We can rectify that,” Derek breathes out, “Right?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, leaning in close, “I want to date you, will you go out with me?”

“Wow, would Cosmo approve of you being so forward?”

“I don’t fucking care so long as you get my point.”

“And, it only took three months.”

“Stiles.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Stiles.”

“Hold on,” Stiles lifts a finger, “Because on one hand, you’ve been so sweet to me all summer, but–”

Derek shuts him off with a kiss, says his name a great deal in the sand behind the sunbeds. 

*

For Christmas, Stiles gets him a subscription for Cosmo. Derek makes aeroplanes out of the pages and tosses them at Stiles’ face in bed.


End file.
